Broken
by Darke Eco Freak
Summary: That which is broken can never be fixed, no matter how strong the glue.


**DEF: Second Kuroshitsuji story, was originally a Batman fic but reviewing it, I realized it fit Ciel's personality and history better.  
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_Vita: She's a bit too enthusiastic, shall we say, about Ciel's angst, she even has a story she plans to do very soon, multi-chaptered -_-. As usual, we don't own Kuroshitsuji, if we did, the corset scene wouldn't have been a tease ;)_

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His mind was once a place of calm grasses, tranquil waters and lazy summer twilights. A free soul, so open and loving, there were no dark corners. No this soul never knew darkness, there was too much light for that. His world was one of endless meadows, ancient forests and full moon nights that lovers dreamed of. He was everything good in the world, childlike in his simplicity, ageless in his wisdom.

So what had happened? Where had the place of magic and moonlit paths gone? This was a barren wasteland, a dead world where nothing dared to grow.

Sharp spires of black rock reaching to the heavens like pleading fingers, what they done to deserve this hell? Hands, they would forever be left reaching, reaching, reaching up to the red eyed crow that circled above, waiting for its next meal. The earth lies cracked and parched waiting for a rain that will never come. The cursed deserve no respite from punishment but what grievous sin had been committed here?

How could anyone live here, this place devoid of life and love? The sky had lost its moon and stars, they have fallen in the apocalypse. All that is left is a red sun, a dying sun. The sky is tinted with crimson, as red as his heart, as red as his blood that runs so freely, like water. He who knew not of death's cruel kiss has come too close to receiving this last intimacy too many times already.

This is all that remains of an ocean of green grass with an island of mirror like waters, the forest has died and the trees have been replaced by black fingers grasping at any chance of redemption. They stand out against the desert around them, they stand watch over this Hell like sentinels. They guard it against the love and happiness that resided in the lazy summer twilights and the pure innocence that once lurked in the ancient forests. The boy who roamed these grasses has died, his red heart ripped out and left to fade away among the moonlit paths sacred to lovers.

A new boy lives here now, he with a heart of black ice, as cold as the arctic winds and darker than the black river Styx of death. He knows nothing of happiness, in truth, joy doth avoid him like the plague, he who understands only the language of loneliness and despair. Hate and shadows are his most intimate bedfellows, he knows what he is and yet he hides.

He hides in the shadow of tall black spires, behind the ghost of that naive child. The wastelands exist hidden beneath the phantom grasses and the blood red skies pretend they are filled with stars. If one were to try, they could almost imagine **_that_ **boy had never left but he has and the changes are too drastic. Not he the boy who never dreamed death, he could never be this cold hearted fiend who deals it out so regularly, so brutally, comfortably. But the boy's heart has been burnt to a hard lump of coal, he no longer possesses that beating red organ.

He is a ghost among the living, forced to remain, forced to face the world that so brutally murdered him. Forced to be a naive child he is not, _**cannot** _be. So he smiles and pretends he is still a mindless boy lying on the soft grasses, lies and pretends that he knows innocence once more. He wanders the ancient forests and chooses not to see the black fingers or dying sun but the full moon and nights that lovers dream of. Pretends that the death that has touched his life is nothing more than a nightmare, for nightmares can be chased away by the light of day.

He conceals the broken fragments of soul behind a mask of indifference while secretly praying for the rising sun, hoping and praying that all his life so far had been a dream. If it hasn't then he will surely go mad, as sure as the death he has dealt.

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**DEF: It's awfully short, I know but I intend to make up for it by writing something much longer, so please look out for it.  
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_Vita: Reviews are like little drops of vodka we like to get drunk on, please, life's too crazy to got through without being drunk!  
_


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